KRISTA: Telling the hard truths that stop the violence

Young men made to face terrible impact of crimes

Maybe it's true that all of us want a place where everybody knows our name.

It's just not true on this day, for these 21 young men, in this place, which happens to be a Hamilton County courtroom.

They are here at the invitation of the Cincinnati Initiative to Reduce Violence. Not only do the law enforcement officials, court officials, social service providers and religious leaders who invited them know these young men's names, they know their criminal records, addresses, friends, family members, reputations, habits and the street corners where they hang.

They also know that unless someone speaks hard truths to these young guys - and soon - they are likely to end up in a prison or a morgue.

This is a CIRV "call-in." After identifying and tracking 1,700 members of 50 local groups known to be involved in violence, CIRV officials invite small clusters of them to an intense 90-minute session of straight talk, warning and concern.

They hear, for example, the truth - not the shellacked street version - of federal laws for drug crimes committed with a gun - at least 60 months for bringing a gun, 84 months for brandishing it, 120 months for firing it.

They watch a video clip of a local man who went to prison at 16 for a killing and won't be up for parole until he is 71 - and hasn't had a visitor in years.

The mother of a young woman killed by her boyfriend hands them photos of her daughter happy and well, and then in her casket. Some of the men cover their eyes and quickly pass the photos on.

But part of the power of this experience is not being able to turn away from those things that people would rather not see. And it is as true for the community members observing the event as it is for the offenders targeted by it.

The two groups face each other in a powerful, emotional, intimate setting - violent offenders in the back half of the courtroom staring straight into the eyes of the pastors, family members, social service workers and judges who sit just feet from them.

There is revelation on both sides.

The young offenders are forced to recognize their own inhumanity, the terrible pain their crimes have inflicted. The community members are forced to recognize their humanity.

They are no longer mug shots, flashed on a television screen. They are human beings with heartbeats. "Who has children of your own?" the mother of the slain young woman asks them, and three-fourths raise their hands. "Who's got somebody who loves you?" she asks more quietly. A quarter hang their heads.

It is a moment of truth, and not just for young men who are here because they have been cold-hearted or violent, but for community members who seek to understand why.

Such moments don't come along often. A community that wants to reduce violence must listen carefully when they do. ⬛

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KRISTA: Telling the hard truths that stop the violence

Maybe it's true that all of us want a place where everybody knows our name.